love is
by dekafeene
Summary: Post game. Oneshot. Sometimes, love was more than seeing fireworks and feeling butterflies in the stomach. Lightning, Hope.


I don't own _Lightning Returns Final Fantasy XIII._

Spoilers about the end, but not about the game itself. Rated M for sexual themes but it's rather short and only implied. English isn't my first language so bad grammar and weird sentence structures are to be expected. Criticism and reviews are obviously welcomed to help me improve.

Prompt "Confusion" for Airhead259. Hope you'll like it :)

**con·fu·sion  
**1. the act of confusing.  
2. the state of being confused.  
3. disorder; upheaval; tumult; chaos.  
4._ lack of clearness or distinctness.  
_5. perplexity; bewilderment.

Post game. Oneshot. Sometimes, love was more than seeing fireworks and feeling butterflies in the stomach. Lightning, Hope.

* * *

**love is**

They never touched each other in public or in front of their friends. They weren't like Snow and Serah, so demonstrative with their overflowing love due to a whole millennium spent apart; or Fang and Vanille, the two of them having some sort of a platonic relationship yet tied by a deep and unbreakable bond as though they were two halves of a whole; or like Noel and Yeul, a clumsy but very pure and innocent relationship.

They weren't like them at all, so open with their feelings and having no shame to express them. Nevertheless, that didn't mean they loved each other less. Lightning was no shy lover and neither was Hope, but they never felt the need to express their feelings like their friends did.

Sometimes when they were all gathered in the Farron-Villiers' grand living room for their monthly reunion, a drink in her hand, she'd catch Snow's arm sneaking around her sister's waist from the corner of her eye and hear her soft giggle ringing in her ears, a melody of happiness; or she'd see Fang's hand clasping Vanille's smaller one, averting her eyes only to witness Noel and Yeul, slightly blushing from awkwardness but heartily laughing over one of his jokes, before unwittingly catch her strawberry red-haired friend standing on her tiptoes to peck on the corner of her raven-haired friend's mouth, a gesture that had always seemed natural to Lightning.

They looked happy and very in love with their other half that it occasionally made her ponder about what love was, or what it should be. When she'd started dating Snow, Serah had told her how it felt like she was seeing fireworks whenever they kissed, or how she felt butterflies in her stomach whenever she caught him staring at her, and then grinning like a fool when he'd realize he'd been spotted.

(She never told her how repulsive it was to listen her gabble, though she did enjoy seeing her gleaming, sparkling eyes. She looked so, so happy.)

She never felt that way with Hope, and he probably never felt that way with her either. She never saw these so-called fireworks of love, or felt these butterflies flying in her stomach. She never experienced love before, having no time between raising Serah and saving the world not once, nor twice but _thrice_ and if she knew that Hope indeed did, she also knew there were only sexual relationships, two or three women sharing his bed. Hence, it could also be said that he didn't experience love either.

Love like their friends had, that is.

They weren't as pure and innocent as Noel and Yeul were, but nor were they as expressive as Snow and Serah. In retrospect, in some way, they were similar to Vanille and Fang and their relationship—it was natural, simple and maybe plain but it was honest and sincere.

And those moments just happened when they were alone.

Physical contacts were rare when they weren't sleeping or having sex and most of the time, it was Hope that initiated them. Oftentimes, there weren't romantic gestures—his head resting on her lap when he'd come home exhausted from his work; a flick on his forehead when he was being silly; his hand combing her pastel pink hair when she'd fall asleep on his shoulder before carrying her from the couch to their bed upstairs when he himself would drift into sleep but sometimes, there were some teasing kisses of his trailing down her neck when he was feeling happy; his fingers lingering on her wrist before slipping down to hold her hand tightly, to which she'd reply by squeezing his hand back; a light goodbye kiss on the lips when he'd depart for a long business trip and in one of those rare moments, she'd feel his strong yet warm arms embracing her from behind when they'd stargaze from the patio of her house with two identical cups of tea (or coffee, depending of their moods) by their side.

They didn't often act like they were lovers—when they were _not_ sleeping together—but she was fine with that. She'd probably never experience the fireworks or feel the butterflies but to Lightning, it was fine. She was contented with the small gestures, even though they weren't, most of the time, romantic intended, that would put a faint but genuine smile on her lips, a sign of happiness she allowed to phantom over her face ever since they'd been reborn in that godless world.

They were simple people. She was contented with the feeling of his hands caressing her curves, tracing the contours of them with his fingertips while she shuddered with desire and pleasure; of his teeth nipping hotly, sensually the skin of her neck leaving a red mark that would vanish in the morning; of his hot breath tickling her ear when he penetrated her in a slow, almost agonizingly pace.

She was contented with the feeling of _feeling him _with his hot, steamy flesh against her feverish one, his heart beating as fast as hers and his toned back under the sticky palm of her hands. She was contented with wrapping her arms around his neck, clutching his silver hair in tiny fists when she felt him move faster, harder, deeper. Sometimes, she'd even suck on the skin of his neck hard enough to leave a crimson hickey or two that would last for a few days. She was contented with hearing his husky groans and feeling his fingers grasping tightly, painfully sweet the flesh of her waist whenever she arched her back and clenched her walls, giving him as much pleasure as he gave her.

Far from the ideal of love, the belief of an explosion of fireworks and swirling butterflies in the stomach, Lightning was just happy to wake up by his side the morning after, her head resting against his chest with their legs closely intertwined, the spring breeze teasing their bare shoulders uncovered by the white cotton sheets and, as she felt his soft lips upon her own, felt his genuine smile against her lips, she found herself mirroring his lip movements—she smiled.

Sometimes, love just is.

* * *

Might write a sequel or a companion oneshot to this but it might not happen as well.


End file.
